


Sanctity

by luxybaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Castiel is unsure, Catholic Guilt, Dean Winchester as Lolita, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, blink and you'll miss it Dean/John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxybaby/pseuds/luxybaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Castiel's moral decline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts), [dollylux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/gifts), [hellhoundsprey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/gifts), [saltandbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/gifts), [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts).



> Ok, this is not a feel-good fic. This is my first public smut attempt and blood offering ficlet to the Coven of Depravity, to whom I owe my soul. Be gentle with me, please. I'm uncertain about my smut writing ability.

Castiel Novak was a pious man. When his lips brushed against one another in whispered prayer, his thoughts hardly ever strayed from the cross before him. He was well known, well liked. A parent once referred to him as her faith in humanity. Pride welled in his chest, but being one sin of seven, Castiel’s humble response was to have faith in the Lord and Him alone. Heart breakingly handsome, the Sunday School Single Mothers, dressed up and painted like powdered tea cakes, cooed and fawned over him as they checked the children in and out of daycare, fanning themselves as they spoke to him.

Castiel Novak was a holy man. And he had a secret.

His secret had long, needing fingers and bony kneecaps. The whole of his secret was dappled in sweet freckles more divine than the stars his God hung by hand. His secret had eyes wide and greener than the Garden of Eden itself, lips decadently plush and gnawed red, and _oh_ Castiel could just see them dripping a nectar sweeter than the proverbial forbidden fruit. And he knew he was a bad, bad man. He asked for forgiveness every night before he went to bed. The Confessional found him once a week, “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” The words were so familiar and damning, redeeming, they were etched into his being, ingrained into his soul like a raw brand.

It had started innocent enough. Every child in his care had been given a copy of his address and the promise of a safe place in any circumstance, so he was only a little surprised when Dean Winchester, cheeks flushed and eyelashes matting with tears, manifested onto his front porch, begging to be let in. Castiel was a holy man, but he was a man nonetheless, flawed.

  
His little mouth was salvation when it whispered an uncertain, “Please, Mr. Novak. I just need a place to stay for the night.” And what was Castiel supposed to say?

He didn’t say no to the whimpering, shivering boy at his door. He didn’t say no when that sweet, quivering mass asked to use the shower. He didn’t say no when those wet lashes bat at him, asking to borrow some pajamas. He didn’t say no when those bony knees met his mattress and that froggy voice cut through his will, “Please, Mr. Novak. I can’t be alone right now.”

Castiel’s bed was big enough for the two of them, but he wasn’t sure there would be room for the enormity of guilt that hung around him like a cloud. Lust was his second sin and his studies taught him that sin called for repentance and he knew his atonement was due. Squeezing his eyes shut, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the boy as he slithered closer under the covers, little hand feverishly warm as it tried for casualness, draping over Castiel’s cock, already half hard inside his pants. It was as if Dean willed Castiel’s pants around his thighs because it was only a breath between having them there on his hips and not. Shaking his head in the inky dark, he reached. Long fingers met sandy blonde tresses, still baby soft and, Father forgive, he wanted.

He didn’t stop Dean as he wrapped his lips around Cas’s throbbing cock, but he did refuse to watch. The Ark of the Covenant. A sinner unable to cast his eyes on the glory before him. The tears bit at his eyes and he could feel the weight of his convictions sitting upon his shoulders. He couldn’t look down. The sensation was heavy and indulgent on his solid length and gluttony as his third was just as punishable as any capital vice, but still he didn’t abstain.

Forgiveness. Castiel knew that was the only way. He was just a man. A man of flesh, and flesh bled. Flesh desired. Said desire coursed through his mortal confines sweeter than vice he had ever known. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter against the black of his bedroom and soul, he began his penitence.

 

_Hail Mary, full of Grace._

 

His heart was hammering in his throat, faster than anything he had ever known as the boy’s whines echoed in his ears. The juvenile mouth was practiced, however clumsy with excitement, the scrape of teeth like penance for his transgressions. It ached and stung and it was a paradise laced with sweet burning hell fire as the head of his cock dragged along the ridges of his palate, bumping its way down to his throat. Castiel groaned as if it had been punched out of him.

 

_Our Lord is with thee._

 

Pink. The world was pink. Pink like Dean Winchester’s lips. Pink like the blushing head of his cock. Pink like the rose scented candles he lit to beg his forgiveness. Pink like the color of his guilt and redemption. His universe burned down to a sharp point of fiery pink, focused in on the livewire sensation of that peony mouth. The feeling of his pink esophagus attempting to close around his member and failing had Castiel’s head reeling. Pink like the flush of his skin, blood struggling between his rigid dick and his bride blushing cheeks.

 

_Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb._

 

He didn’t have the slightest idea as to when his eyes fluttered open, but he was under the impression their gazes had been locked for sometime. Those viridescent eyes were blurred with tears that welled thick to the brims as the boy gagged delicately. On a moan, Castiel’s mouth hung open in awe. Little Dean slapped his thigh before popping off with a crude noise to giggle. “It’s rude to stare,” his prepubescent hetaerae teased cruelly, a long rope of saliva connected those petal lips and his cock.

 

_Jesus._

 

Jesus had forgiven Mary Magdalene of her sexual deviance and Castiel prayed to the altar before him for the same variety of mercy. Dean rose to meet Castiel’s face, wiping his mouth in a way that was so innocent it was obscene. “You gonna sit around and gape all night like a dull bulb, or are you gonna fuck me?” The words spilled out with a mirth that seemed out of place in the bedroom of a holy man. They were well practiced and easy on Dean’s skilled and sinful tongue. It was indecent with the way he giggled and waggled his eyebrows as if the whole scenario was a game that Castiel was losing.

 

_Holy Mary, Mother of God._

 

The tiny slip of a boy rid himself of his borrowed sleepwear to reveal white boxer briefs that Castiel found more appealing than any lingerie he’d ever been tempted with before. With a grace akin to newborn deer, he produced a small tube of lube to open himself up. Pink little pucker exposed to Castiel’s heavy, mannish eyes as if his gaze could pry him open further than those two little digits already digging deep. Again, his too large, too old hands caressed skin that was still silky with youth and he wanted it all. He wanted more than he had been offered. He wanted to keep this boy, own him. Greed saw his fourth cardinal vice.

 

_Pray for us sinners._

 

He hadn’t the slightest idea what came over him, but as if by seraphic force, his flannel pajama bottoms were lost at the end of the bed. Embarrassingly and shamefully stiff despite himself, the skinny child straddling his waist. As much as he wanted to call it off, the first fall of the boy onto his length was divine and there was no going back. Dean moaned an animal noise like the seven-headed steed belonging to the Whore of Babylon. Castiel’s finger dug into the boy’s hips, plush with a childish softness that clung to him like the haze of a Botticellian cherub. Dean bounced on him without hesitation,moving with a practiced ease that answered the question of John Winchester’s infinite protectiveness. The mothers of the church saw the oldest Winchester as admirable and fiercely endearing, but Castiel knew better. A wild, uninhibited anger shot through him, heady veins of envy directed at Dean’s father, five then six sins of seven, at the fact that he wasn’t the one to deflower the boy. He knew no expiation could spare his damnation.

 

_Now and at the hour of our death._

 

Castiel’s hands roamed up over the flesh of the boy, illuminated and glowing milk-pale by the moonlight, bruising and pulling at silken boyish skin. Unable to hold himself back and fully acceptant of his wickedness, he took what he truly wanted. Flipping the boy onto his back he began to thrust into him brutally. Dean’s lewd moans vibrated down to Castiel’s soul as his hips worked as a piston, bordering sadistic with his lack of finesse. The weight of his actions, the wrongness of it all had Castiel nearing the finish sooner than he wanted it to end. Those pink lips uttered a soft noise that resembled Castiel’s name in a broken, quiet croak and that was all it took for Castiel to spill everything he had to offer into the child’s hole, a vice in itself.

The wetness between them let Castiel know that Dean had finished himself and it was all he same as Castiel had no intention of moving. Yes, it was just the beginning. Castiel would come to own this boy. Own him down to the marrow of his bones. However, for the moment, his eyes were falling closed, ignoring Dean’s soft requests for a washcloth to clean up. Drifting off while there was work to be done and heavy talks to be had, made sloth his final iniquity. Shoving Dean into a position he found suitable, he fell asleep.

 

_Amen._


End file.
